


wearing your permissions, waiting quiet for me

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Leitner Made Them Do It (The Magnus Archives), Alternate Universe - Canon-Adjacent, Canon Asexual Character, Consensual Non-Consent, Consent Issues, Cunnilingus, F/M, Groping, Lingerie, Nightmares, Sexy Leitner Week (The Magnus Archives), Somnophilia, Stalking, Trans Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Vaginal Fingering, aroace Daisy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28867665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: It comes to a head one night when Daisy arrives at his front door to see another hunter already pawing at the doorknob. They don’t even notice Daisy at the end of the hall, watching with a furious gaze. They test the knob again, harder this time, and Daisy smells them, their hunt-lust, their intent.--Jon accidentally makes a dangerous purchase on an untrustworthy website, and now Daisy can't seem to leave him alone.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Alice "Daisy" Tonner
Comments: 7
Kudos: 83





	wearing your permissions, waiting quiet for me

**Author's Note:**

> My first day contributing to Sexy Leitner Week has proven very successful >:) So here's the prompt for **bite**!
> 
> There's no book involved here so I want to clarify: the 'leitner' in question is the webpage Jon finds. I figure there are likely digital equivalents of leitners in more modern times, and I love to see unconventional leitners~ Though I guess you could argue this fic slightly more concerned with the 'artefact' that Jon buys from said website. 
> 
> This is also set in a universe I'm calling 'canon-adjacent', so there's some things similar to canon, but the timeline and events aren't exactly the same, but like don't WORRY about it okay? Entities still exist and so do those aligned with them and like don't worry about it my dude, don't even sweat it, that's not what any of us are here for, is it?
> 
> This concept was inspired directly by the Random Leitner Generator! I got **Somnophilia + Lingerie (Hunt)** , and at first I was very ??? about how that would go, but I have decided THIS... is how it would go uvu
> 
> Content warnings provided in the end notes! And a big thank you to Silver for beta-reading!
> 
> Terms used for Jon in this: cunt/hole, cock, wet/slick

By the time Daisy realizes she’s standing in Jon’s doorway, he’s already noticed her. “Yes?” he asks, tilting his head a bit. It’s always vaguely bothered Daisy, when he does that, unconsciously highlighting his throat with the motion. “Did you need something, Daisy?” **  
**

“...No,” she tells him. Then, “I’m not sure,” because she really isn’t. She doesn’t remember why she wandered in here.

“Hm.” Jon checks something on his computer screen, then eyes the document in front of him. “Did you want something to do?”

“I’m supposed to help Basira and Melanie investigate a case today,” Daisy tells him, growing tense, feeling foolish and angry for it. “They’re taking too damn long to get ready.” 

“Ah. Well…” Jon fidgets, looking suddenly very incongruent with his large desk, big chair. Something in the way he moves makes Daisy acutely aware that she hasn’t eaten lunch yet. “You can stay here and help me until they’re ready?”

“Sure.” Daisy grabs a chair and sits. Things are still a bit odd between them. No surprise there, given what’s happened. They’re square now, and- even stranger, they seem to have become friends. Daisy’s not so sure how it happened, only that they do things like this often now — helping each other, sitting quietly together, working. Sometimes they talk about simple things that don’t involve hunters or archivists or other monsters. She even has a key to his place, now, and she’s not sure how that happened. There was some half-hearted excuse over it being practical.

It doesn’t matter. She’s here now, and they’re working, and things feel as they should again. Simple, normal. Daisy focuses on that and lets herself forget her brief moment of absentmindedness. 

* * *

It keeps happening, though. Daisy finds herself unconsciously drifting towards Jon during the day, and thinking about him at night. The others notice; they look on, nervous, wary with good reason. Daisy’s tried making up for what happened before, but she gets it; they don’t have to like her or forgive her or anything. But when you spend every day chasing ghost stories and dealing with deadly monsters, trust is a necessity. 

So she tries to be aware of herself and stop with the hovering, but it’s hard. She doesn’t know what the reason is. She considers, briefly- but no, she’s not really like that. Jon’s eye-catching, but for all the wrong reasons. He’s small, and so fragile-looking. He’s got wide eyes and dainty little wrists that Daisy could snap if she wanted to. He tilts his head so she can see the elegant curve of his throat. He still shivers, sometimes, when she stands too close to him, and it makes something sweet prickle along her shoulders. 

Then there’s a night where Daisy can’t sleep, and she can’t stop thinking about Jon, and soon enough she’s out of her flat and walking through the dark streets of London. She’s alert, but not worried. She’s focused but not present, caught in some dreamy haze, and only comes back to herself when she’s inside Jon’s flat. 

Daisy barely remembers opening the door. She closes it behind her and moves towards Jon’s bedroom. Despite having a key, she hasn’t come here a lot. Martin has one, too, which makes sense; so does Melanie, for some reason. Basira doesn’t. Tim doesn’t. Daisy’s often wondered why. She doesn’t wonder why now, only goes to where she’s pretty sure Jon’s bedroom is, because obviously he’d be there, asleep, and for some reason she needs to see him. 

The door isn’t closed. She pushes it and instantly eyes the shape of him under the covers. She watches him breathe and loses track of time. The edges of the night get blurry, but Jon gets sharp, and Daisy hears the blood roaring, and then she blinks and she’s hanging over Jon, reaching out a hand. 

She shakes him until he wakes.

“W-what?” Jon’s slow to come out of it, which sets off something in Daisy’s mind, something like alarm. Jon’s usually much like a cat, she’s noticed, bolting upright at the slightest provocation. But now it seems like a real trial for him to pull himself upright and rub the sleep from his eyes. “Daisy? What- Did something happen?”

“No, just…” All at once, Daisy realizes that this might look… well. Pretty bad. She shuffles awkwardly, taking a couple steps away. “Something made me come over. I don’t know why — instincts, maybe.”

“Do you think something is wrong?”

Daisy looks away, purposefully letting herself ease into the feeling of the hunt. She has to be more careful nowadays. Has to keep her wits about her. She’s trying very hard, but it can still be difficult. Especially now, when she’s so desperate to hone in on anything to justify her being there. But really, there’s not much of anything; only Jon, alone in bed, upright and shivering a bit with the blanket clutched over his lap. He’s in a long-sleeved button-down that looks soft. Idly, Daisy wonders if he has anything else on, or if he’s bare beneath the covers. 

She clears her throat. “No, uh, I don’t think so. I don’t smell anything or see anything.”

“...Okay.” Jon looks nervous, and Daisy thinks she should go. So she does.

“Sorry,” she mutters at the doorway, and Jon says it’s fine, and she wonders if it is.

* * *

It’s not fine.

Five more nights, consecutively, Daisy walks from her flat to Jon’s. Sometimes she catches herself at the front door. She’ll curse and pace the hallway before forcing herself to leave, not wanting any nosy neighbors to complain about the strange woman stalking their complex. Sometimes Daisy gets all the way inside before she realizes where she is. Those times, she can’t help peeking in on Jon. He never wakes up. She stares and doesn’t touch him. Her jaw aches. Her mouth gets wet. She digs her fingernail into the meat of her forearm so she can leave, then licks the wound on her way home. 

It gets worse at work, too, and Daisy knows everyone sees it, and it frustrates her. She snaps and growls like she used to, and she’d hate it, except there’s nothing else she can do. Because Jon is getting weird, too, more stressed and snappy, yet simultaneously shy around everyone. He tries to keep himself locked away in his office. Sometimes, when Daisy does see him, the way he moves seems… off. Too aware of himself. Restrained. Sometimes oddly… sensual. But that’s just in her head, right? She’s obviously fixated. She can’t stop thinking about the way he breathes and what’s underneath his stuffy work clothes. 

It comes to a head one night when Daisy arrives at his front door to see another hunter already pawing at the doorknob. They don’t even notice Daisy at the end of the hall, watching with a furious gaze. They test the knob again, harder this time, and Daisy smells them, their hunt-lust, their intent. 

She growls until they look up; as they approach, she retreats until they’re far enough away from the complex. It’s a short fight, but ferocious — she’s bigger than them, but they’re fighting for prey, and they’re just as hungry as she is. She ends up bleeding from a busted lip, but ignores it as she enters Jon’s flat, locking the door behind her. 

Daisy makes a beeline for Jon’s bedroom, intending to wake him up and demand answers. But she gets caught in the doorway again. He’s not as covered by the blanket this time, and he’s wearing a loose shirt, too big on his slender frame. She can see a dark strap of something peeking out from underneath. She can see him breathing and she wants to swallow him up. 

Another hunter almost got in. Tried to take Jon — her Jon. Something pulses at Daisy’s core, and she can feel herself salivating. Her Jon. Her prey. So beautiful like this, asleep and unaware of her presence. She doesn’t have to feel bad about her looming height. She casts a shadow over him. When he shivers in his sleep, Daisy realizes she hasn’t been breathing. She inhales, a shuddery gasp. She’s throbbing, aroused. 

“Jon,” she whispers desperately. “Jon, you have to wake up.”

He doesn’t wake up. Daisy persists. She bites the meat of her thumb until she bleeds, and focuses on that taste, the pain and the tang of blood, as she roughly shakes Jon’s shoulder and growls and tells him to wake up, dammit. 

Eventually, finally, he does. It’s just as slow as before and something about this makes Daisy want to smack him. She pulls herself away instead, licking her hand, staring, waiting for him to come to. 

“Daisy?” he asks, still disoriented, only vaguely alarmed by her presence. 

“What is going on?” she asks. Her tone brooks no argument. “Jon, there was another hunter here.”

“What?” With clear effort, Jon pushes himself fully upright. He rubs at his eyes, breathing deeply, with intent, like he’s forcing himself to fill up his lungs and make the blood pump through his body. “A hunter was here?”

“I drove them off,” she says, “but they were here. And so was I. Why? Jon, something’s going on, and we need to figure it out now.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Daisy thinks she hates it for how much potential it has. Then Jon says, sounding very hesitant and, for some reason, embarrassed, “I think I know what’s wrong.”

Daisy glares at him. Jon fidgets, then reaches over for his glasses, sighing. After putting them on and turning on the small lamp by his bed, he explains:

The other day, he found a website. More specifically, he’d noticed an ad out of the corner of his eye. He doesn’t even remember what it said, only that, for some reason, he’d wanted to click on it. So he had. It led to a webpage advertising ‘specialized nightwear’. Nightgowns, pajama shirts… lingerie. He’d browsed in a daze, ended up ordering something that caught his eye. Felt surprised and embarrassed at himself afterwards, but by then it was too late. It arrived the next evening, long after normal postage would’ve been delivered. 

He hadn’t meant to put it on. Only… well, the advertisement on the site said the material, dark purple cotton, was extremely soft, and Jon couldn’t stop wondering how it would feel, and surely it couldn’t hurt to try it on? He’d already bought it, already had the package in his hands. So he’d opened it, fished out the fabric, and put it on to see. 

It was lovely, Jon told Daisy. It fit just right. It settled on his body like it was custom-made. In the back of his mind, he had known something was wrong, something was off, but he couldn’t stop touching and admiring the material, the fit, the feeling. By the time he was done, he’d simply felt too tired to take it off. Pulling on a shirt, he’d crawled into bed and enjoyed one of the best nights of sleep he’d had in a long time. 

Jon claimed to have forgotten he was wearing the lingerie when he woke up. Got dressed in a hurry, having slept in, and it was out of his mind by the time he got to the Institute. Even in that moment when Daisy arrived for no reason at his office door, he hadn’t thought of it. It wasn’t until that night, trying to undress for a shower, that Jon remembered he was still wearing them. And he hadn’t wanted to take them off. 

In the end, he showered with them on. At the time he felt ridiculous, but taking off the lingerie felt more ridiculous — beyond that, it felt impossible. Jon took his shower and emerged with perfectly dry, clean underwear. He’d put his clothes back on, hands shaking. 

He’d tried taking them off multiple times, but whenever he got close, his own body would stop him. It was some sort of mental block. He just couldn’t bear to remove either garment fully. 

Daisy listens to all this, heart beating fast. So it was some sort of cursed object, purchased from a cursed website. Jon had been compelled to look through the catalogue, and he’d bought something — seemingly — at random. Hunting down the site to investigate probably wasn't a grand idea, so they’d have to figure out some way around the problem themselves. 

“The sooner we figure this out, the better,” Daisy says. “It’s been getting worse for me, all I want to do now is-” A pause. Jon fidgets in the bed, and she can hear his body siding against the sheets, and she hates the covers hiding it all. Daisy takes a half-step closer. “We need to fix this. Who knows how many other hunters you’ll attract?”

“...There’s more to it,” Jon says, and his voice is heavy with something like fear, something like… anticipation. “I’ve been having nightmares. At first, I thought they might just be sleep paralysis — I had that, sometimes, during uni. Nights where I felt like I was awake, but couldn’t move. It was terrifying, but it always passed.” 

In his nightmares, Jon was lying on his back. He wasn’t home, but he didn’t know where he was, just that it was outside somewhere. It was always dark, and he could see the sky stretched wide across his vision, but holding no stars. The wind was warm, but the stone at his back was cold. And every time, intrinsically, Jon knew that something was looking for him. It was on its way to find him. Jon knew, too, that once it found him…

That was the terror. He’d lie there, immobile, and dread the coming of it. Helpless and fully aware of his helplessness. The fear never relented, because he knew as long as he was there, it was coming towards him, and it would eventually get to him. 

“Is that why you’ve had such a hard time waking up?” Daisy asks, and Jon shrugs. He looks much too small, staring at Daisy with an expression she’s not sure he should be trusting her with, in the moment. “Well… alright. I think we should try the obvious first: let me, uh, see if I can get it off of you?”

Jon’s face twists, embarrassed and indignant; he looks like he wants to argue. But things are already this bad. If Daisy hadn’t come, and that other hunter had gotten in… Daisy knows exactly what would have happened, even if Jon doesn’t quite understand it yet himself. They have to do something about this, now, and there has to be a workaround. Letting someone not currently wearing the cursed clothing try to remove it sounds like a good first step. 

With obvious reluctance, Jon nods in agreement, then finally kicks off the covers. He’s not wearing anything else, only the lingerie and his oversized shirt. His legs, long and thin, twist until they’re hanging off the edge of the bed. With shaking hands, Jon tugs up the hem of his shirt, refusing to look at Daisy throughout. 

She steels herself, takes a breath, then moves. She tries to keep it simple, quick — thumbs hooked in the fabric at Jon’s waist. He lifts himself so she can tug it down the curve of his ass, but she doesn’t get that far. Before she’s even pulled it away, Daisy’s hands freeze. Then her hands move, thumbs running along the seam, adjusting them so they’re fitted just right on Jon again. He makes a questioning noise, vaguely worried, but Daisy barely hears him. Her hands trace the faint, lacy design. The material is dark, deep purple, almost black, and it looks delicious against Jon’s skin. And despite its color, she can still see the small, damp spot between Jon’s legs. Without thinking, her thumb travels along the swirling designs until it rests right there, and Jon’s gasp is what breaks her free of her trance. 

Daisy jerks her hands away. She realizes she’s panting. “Maybe,” she starts, then stops. Looks away from Jon, putting immense effort into focusing. “Maybe the top,” she says. 

She expects Jon to hesitate, but he wastes no time in tearing off his shirt. The bralette underneath is perfect, cupping Jon’s small, soft breasts in delicate seam work. When she traces her fingers along the hem, she shifts forward, resting a knee on the bed between his legs. Her fingers find no clasp. 

“I’ll have to try ripping it off,” Daisy mutters aloud, and she’s close enough to feel Jon’s breath stutter. She feels it, too, the way the words sound and taste in her mouth. Unconsciously, Daisy licks her lips as she digs her nails into the material. 

But-

Something feels wrong. She eases her grip. “I can’t…” Something in her won’t let her do it. She tries again, reaching for the front of the bralette, but instead her gaze catches on Jon’s nipples, dark and just barely visible through the sheer of the bralette, and soon her thumbs are preoccupied. 

“D-daisy…” Jon’s hands rest on her wrists. He doesn’t pull away, though, just leaves them there, quietly panting under her attention. “Daisy?” 

“I don’t know…” Daisy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath through her nose. Pulls away. Gets off the bed. Goes to the doorway. Refuses to look. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“...I think…” Jon clears his throat, and Daisy hears the sound of sheets rustling. Jon’s still clearly in the bed when he says, “I might have to be asleep.” 

“What?”

“The… object… the curse, whatever, it clearly wants me to be asleep. You always come after I’ve fallen asleep, and when you try to wake me up, it’s harder every time.”

“Yeah?”

“So maybe you can, ah, satisfy the curse, perhaps even remove the object-”

“You don’t know,” Daisy growls, finally turning to glare at him. She feels wild and desperate. “You don’t know what that thing wants me to do to you.”

Once more, Jon shivers, wiggling under her gaze. “I’ve got some idea,” he says in a small voice. 

“Then you’re an idiot for suggesting-”

“What else is there to do?” Jon snaps, and Daisy hears his unease, his fear, his arousal, all rolled up together, contained in that trembling voice. “You already said other hunters feel it, too. What happens if it’s someone that isn’t you?” 

“...You trust me to do that?” 

Jon chuckles, staring at his lap, no note of mirth in his voice. “Do I have a choice in it?” 

Daisy licks the split in her lip, already half-healed, prodding it, wanting it to bleed again. “I could keep them away,” she says at last. 

“No. No, Daisy, just… Stay, won’t you? Just stay and wait. Then do what you need to.”

Daisy shakes her head, but she doesn’t say no.

* * *

In the living room, it’s quiet. The door to Jon’s bedroom is closed. Daisy lies belly-down on the couch and stares at nothing. The front door is locked. It’s been twenty minutes. She knows Jon is already asleep again because she can hear the way he breathes through the closed door. She can smell him too, like always. She can practically see him, when she closes her eyes. The shape of his body beneath the covers. 

An hour passes before Daisy can’t take it anymore. She gets up and opens the door and doesn't bother to be quiet about it. She throws the covers off Jon’s body, onto the floor. He’s curled up, and she moves him, and it doesn’t take any effort at all because he’s too small, too fragile, too lost in his nightmares to resist her.

She takes a moment — just a moment — to simply stare down at him. His slack jaw, his steady breathing. Daisy pets his hair and lets the edge of her thumbnail slide along the man’s exposed throat. He’s trembling. Daisy feels a rush of something like victory, burning, selfish. The room is dark and the front door is locked. She hopes, if anyone else is looking for Jon, they’ll be able to smell her tangled up with his scent. She wants them to know who got there first. 

Daisy licks her teeth, feels them grow sharp. Luxuriates in the sensation coursing through her, rolling her shoulders, arching her spine. It’s intoxicating, the catch, the kill, the racing heart beneath her body. Jon doesn’t move and Daisy finds no resistance when she descends upon him. 

She mouths at his throat, hungry and wanting, but resists the darkest urge. Instead her teeth find the fabric covering his breasts. She mouths at him through the cotton, licking at his nipples, feeling them harden. As she sucks, bites, grips the other with her hand, she grinds against him lazily. Her nails hook into the fabric. Daisy bites one strap and snaps her head back and nothing stops her. She rips it. She swallows little pieces, dark threads, but mostly she just tears it apart until Jon’s body is hers to appreciate and touch. 

By then he’s breathing faster, his heart racing, his eyes frantic beneath closed lids, making his lashes flutter. Daisy can taste his fear under her tongue. It makes her groan, roll her hips. She feels sick with the pleasure in her stomach. She feels numb and stupid, like an animal. When she moves a hand down, between Jon’s legs, he’s so wet she can slip a finger inside without any trouble. Daisy curls it, fucking him with it, rolling her hips and letting herself get hungrier, more frantic with the want. 

Eventually she can’t stand resisting any longer. Her mouth is at him, through the fabric, lapping at his dripping cunt. He smells amazing. She can feel his cock, swollen, against her nose. Daisy traces a dark line from the damp spot up to the outline of it, then presses at it with her tongue, then bites the hem of the panties and grabs the other side with her hand and ruins them, relishing in the sound of it resisting her, then coming apart, useless.

He’s even sweeter without the barrier between them. Daisy slides her tongue inside him and relishes in it, arms wrapped around his thighs, gripping him, pulling him against her hungry mouth. Around the sloppy sounds of her ministrations, she can hear Jon making noises, raspy moans and whimpers. She wonders what he’s seeing in that dream of his. Is it her? It better be, she thinks possessively, then pulls back so she can shove three fingers into his hole. 

She makes him come once, then uses his slick to jerk herself off, panting and growling above Jon’s prone form, his limbs spread haphazardly across the bed and the smell of him tangible, consuming the small bedroom. Daisy bows her back and breathes against his throat and wants to bite, thirsty, lusting for the prey she’s caught in her shadow. 

She doesn’t bite. She comes, hips jerking, and drools against his collarbone as she rides the wave. When she’s done, she pulls her hand out of her pants and licks it clean of their slick. 

Jon’s breathing, which had hit a frantic crescendo during his unconscious orgasm, was finally settling down to its usual deep, slow rhythm. Daisy takes in his calm expression and figures he must be feeling alright, now. Wonders idly how strange it is that he didn’t wake up — if he was suffering such an upsetting nightmare, wouldn’t he have been shocked into consciousness at some point? But that’s too much to think about now… Daisy’s mind, free of the influence of the lingerie, feels worn. She could hardly call what just happened a hunt, but it almost feels the same, adrenaline seeping out of her to be replaced with bone-deep, satisfying exhaustion. Daisy can do little else besides pull the covers on top of Jon and lie down next to him. 

They’ve never slept in the same bed together. Daisy figures he won’t mind. He already gave a beast like her the key to his flat. Invited her to stay, to take him in his sleep. Daisy feels a shiver crawl along her spine, and decides she would prefer to sleep under the covers, too. 

**Author's Note:**

> And then Jon wakes up and he's like aw sick no more cursed undies. And he makes breakfast for both of them and Daisy just kinda sits there eating her eggs in a daze while Jon wonders aloud if they're able to register a leinter with Artefact Storage if it's also a website? What's the protocol for this? He can't recall an example of this on record at the Institute yet. What do you think Daisy? Oh here's some salt if you want it-
> 
>  **CWs:**  
>  \- obviously, a leitner is involved, so the consent situation is a inherently iffy  
> \- specifically, jon and daisy realize there's no conventional/easy way of getting the lingerie off of jon, so he suggests 'fulfilling it's condition'; daisy is resistant to the idea but jon explicitly consents (out of necessity) and she agrees  
> \- i didn't tag this with sex pollen because that's not really the focus, nor was it the intent, but you could use that to describe the affect the lingerie has on daisy  
> \- daisy stalking jon and going to his flat uninvited  
> \- daisy watching jon while he sleeps  
> \- the way daisy thinks about jon throughout the fic can be described as (literally) predatory and possessive


End file.
